


Dr. Watson Smyth's Guide To A First Pregnancy: Platinum Edition

by HungLikeARainbro



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Complete, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:58:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HungLikeARainbro/pseuds/HungLikeARainbro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lister finds out he is pregnant by his alternate self. How will he cope with the pregnancy, especially with Rimmer promising to help and be at his side constantly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Requiem For The Knocked-Up

**Author's Note:**

> I am moving my old fanfiction from FF.net to AO3 and will be creating new work soon. This was originally uploaded 23/10/2004.

_"Just because you could be pregnant, doesn't mean you necessarily are."_

Deb Lister's words echoed around her head. She'd never know. Dave, her male self from another universe and possible mother of her child and gone back to his own dimension. Lister watched the emptiness of space fly by as the Red Dwarf cruised along. On the other side of the universe, or under it, or above it, or inside, outside - whatever! - Dave Lister could be carrying a baby. A baby that would be in all retrospect, a clone of them. What a bizarre thought.

"S'up dudes?" Hilly's new male head appeared on the wall. 

"Nuthin'." Lister pushed herself away from the window and took a cigarette out of her ear and lit it.

"Just thought you'd like to know that they're back."

"Who?"

"The other Red Dwarf."

Lister nearly swallowed her cigarette in surprise. "Y'wat?" she squeaked. "S'only bin 4 hours since they left!"

Arleen Rimmer marched into the room with the Dog in quick succession. He jumped onto her bunk and began to nibble at the fleas on his arm. "NO! Bad Dog!" Rimmer snapped. The Dog stared up at her with his biggest and saddest eyes but it was no use. He slunk off the bed and chewed his arm on the floor instead. "I think I gots me a tick!" 

Rimmer ignored him. "Lister, do you remember the future echoes?"

"Yeah."

"When we saw your future self with those two men and you told yourself they were your twin sons?"

"Oh yeah! Wow, Dave has twins? Poor guy." Lister scratched the back of her neck guiltily.

Rimmer shook her head, "Didn't it strike you as odd? That they were 20ish and you looked the same age?"

"Clit, you're right! What the clit's going on?" Lister asked Hilly. Hilly told them he'd go and find out as soon as he could get a link with Holly again. He was looking forward to that indeed.

***

When Dave Lister discovered he was pregnant, and most likely with twins, he reacted as anyone would. He dug himself into deep denial and moped around in disbelief. Just not possible, he reassured himself. Utterly impossible, he reminded himself again. He'd had drunken unprotected sex before, what could be the chances of an accident happening after a 3 million year break?

Apparently very high.

Rimmer was thrilled. "Scum," he grinned. "It's despairing living with such a sex-fiend."

Lister groaned on the bed, "Why me? Why smegging me?"

"Because I was smart enough to run away from my parallel self, instead of getting blitzed and sleeping with her."

"Shut up." Lister turned over grumpily, his hormones already raging it seemed. Rimmer called Holly up.

"Allo," she said. Rimmer rubbed his eyes. He'd never get used to a female Holly.

"Holly, Arleen sent a few files through your system before we left. Link them up to voice activation and see if you can make a holographic version." Holly gave the files a small virus scan.

"Oooh very nice," she said. "You're taking this very seriously." Her face vanished and the screen was left with two animated directories with paper flitting from one to the other as they downloaded.

"Wassat?" Lister asked curiously, turning back over.

"'Dr. Watson-Smyth's Guide to a First Pregnancy: Platinum Edition'. Highly recommended." Lister groaned. Rimmer was researching pregnancy, which meant only one thing: He planned to commit to this 100%.

And that, Lister knew, was a scary thing.

***

Rimmer read 'Dr. Watson-Smyth's Guide to a First Pregnancy: Platinum Edition' several times. He knew it like he knew his 'Risk' game logs. He wasn't sure why he couldn't put the same effort into his astronavigation exam revision. But now he was pretty confident that, when the time came, he could help Lister through any birth. He'd finally be useful.

"Rimmer? What are these red notes?" Lister said as he eyed the calendar hung on their wall. Rimmer pointed at various parts and explained them to be his diet and exercise codes. "My what?"

"EXF - Extra Fibre. FA - Folic Acid. And at the bottom here; NO RAW EGGS, HOT CURRY OR ALCOHOL."

Lister felt ill. "Not even a slightly hot curry?" he said, his voice a whisper with shock. 

"Trust me Lister, you won't WANT one. But if you must, maybe just once a month. I think it'd be best if you avoided spicy food altogether. Or you'll get terrible heartburn and indigestion. And foods with strong smells and flavours will either send you to heaven or the vomitorium."

"Bu-"

"Not my fault. Blame Dr. Watson-Smyth. And your sex drive for getting you in this mess in the first place." Lister groaned and sank into his bed. He already felt peculiar. Like his entire body was hijacked, not just his... uterus? He didn't have a uterus!

"Rimmer? Where do they grow?"

"Where does what grow?"

"The babies. Where are they?"

"In your testicles." Rimmer didn't look up from his book but he could swear he almost heard Lister's jaw smack against the hard, cold floor. "Me WHAT?!"

Rimmer flicked a few pages back to the chapter on conception. "During intercourse when the man's penis enters the woman's vagina, the egg swims down to meet the sperm."

"The egg swims? I thought the sperm did."

Rimmer cleared his throat, "They both do. They fertilise inside the woman and travel down the penis to the testes where the embryo begins to develop," he grinned evilly at Lister's terrified face.

"They don't STAY there, do they?" He tried to picture walking around with two fully grown babies hanging in his goolies.

Rimmer snorted with laughter. "Don't be stupid, Lister. They make their way up at around the 5th week and nestle snugly on top of your bladder, causing you much discomfort," he said the last few words with great pleasure. Lister looked down at his boxers in wonder for the first time since he was 10.

"But what about a womb, Rimmer? They need a womb!"

"It's actually very fascinating, Lister. It's a cross between marsupial and bird reproduction. The fertilised egg when in the woman gains a protective skin like a bird's egg before it gets a shell. It's like a thicker version of a placenta. With me?"

"Not really."

"Good good. But instead of getting a shell and being born as a bird egg, it attaches itself to the side of your stomach and eventually gets food, blood, and waste relief from you. Doesn't take too long to develop all those connecting bits and bobs. Just like a marsupial baby. But without a pouch. Understand now?"

"Y... no."

"Didn't expect you to. I don't really get it either." Rimmer put the book down. "So, we have much vomiting, stomach pains, backaches, swollen limbs and moodiness to look forward to. Excited, mum?"

"Smeg off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clit - the alternate universe form of 'smeg'. Vaginal discharge didn't have the same ring to it  
> The egg/marsupial theory - I went through several ideas for how a baby could survive without a womb but most of them involved going down the route of Lister not actually having the babies himself. And the testicle thing was just a late-night giggle I had over the fertilisation process and it somehow stuck.


	2. Armitage Shanks

Rimmer awoke to the familiar sound of Lister vomiting into the toilet bowl. He checked the hologram version of the guide book again. Dr. Watson-Smyth reassured Rimmer that it would all soon be over. It was week three. Only seven more weeks. Rimmer was glad he wouldn't have to go through this much longer.

Still, it was a huge inconvenience being woken so early. Lister's odd sleeping habits meant that the morning sickness had no idea when to begin. Should it be morning-morning or wheneverhewakesup-morning, Lister's stomach wondered. It decided that 5am was close enough.

Rimmer knew he'd never go back to sleep now his eight hours had been disrupted. He decided to go annoy Lister to take his mind off things. Lister was lying next to the toilet, gasping for breath when he went into the bathroom. The choking, gulping breaths we all take when we get a second's relief from chundering.

"Don't breathe like that, you'll make it worse," sniffed Rimmer. Lister spat out a bit of bile and tried to enjoy the brief peace before the urge to be sick arose again.

"Help me take my mind off it."

Rimmer pursed his lips and looked around for something to do. "Charades? Oooh no wait - anagrams!"

"Anagrams?"

"Certainly. Think of different ways to arrange the letters in say... 'Armitage Shanks', as you're already looking at it. Let's see... shank. Shark... got one - saint shark game!" Lister groaned and really wished he could hit Rimmer but a brand new wave of nausea broke his train of angry thoughts and his head was back over the loo rim.

"Charming," said Rimmer. "I was only trying to make this fun for you and you throw my friendliness back in my face. Well, _throw it up_ at least," he chortled. Lister seemed certain he was emptied of all hormonal-induced vomit and slunk back to his bed. Rimmer went to his bunk too and lay for a while revising the book yet again. He kept forgetting each week as it came up.

"Now this is interesting - the twins are about the same size as grains of rice. Hard to believe isn't it?" Lister didn't answer. "Honestly Listy, _try_ and be a little excited. You've always wanted two boys."

"Make an anagram of this, Rimmer - 'off smeg'." They were both quiet for a moment. 

Lister shifted over to the side of his bunk and peeked over. Rimmer was deep in his book, and after a few seconds of staring at him, Lister finally said, "Look, I wanted _Kris_ to have them. I wanted to have them _with_ her." He sighed and turned over. His chest was becoming rather tender so he had to alternate which side he slept on to give each 'breast' relief. And he couldn't stand lying on his back. Sleeping on his stomach was becoming a problem too. It sounded stupid, but he was afraid of squashing the babies in his sleep.

He turned over again. Rimmer suddenly spoke. "Lister..."

"Hn?"

"Perhaps I should bring this up now rather than later..." Rimmer scratched his arm nervously. "But maybe you should move into the women's quarter. You'd be nearer the medibay and you could sleep in a bottom bunk. Won't be fun climbing up once you hit 4 months and beyond."

Lister pondered that for a few moments. The women's bunks were more comfortable. And being lower down would be a benefit in some ways. "I dunno man, I think the bunks may be _too_ low. I'd never get up again!"

"Well, we could wheel in one of the beds from the medibay. You could sleep on that."

"I might fall off."

"Put the sides up then," Rimmer snapped and continued reading.

Lister bit his lip. "Y'know, _your_ bunk is about the right height..."

"NO." Rimmer peered over the top of his book to see Lister's head hanging over his bunk's side.

"Go on, it's not like you really need this specific one. You can't tell the difference if you can't feel."

"This bunk has lots of memories. Not to mention my newspaper clippings."

Lister laughed at him, "Oh yeah - 'Arnie does it best'. That was a fantastic read."

Rimmer ignored him.

***

The following week whilst the skutters were writing a full complex dietary guide for him with Rimmer's guidance down at the drive room, Lister turfed out all of Rimmer's stuff from his bunk and moved it into his own. Lister lay down to test the new bed. It smelt too clean, like his had on his first day on the Dwarf. But the bottom bunks were much nicer than the top ones; slightly larger, and easier to collapse into after a few too many drinks. "I'd kill for a pint."

"Kill Goalpost-head then, not me!" the Cat said as he twirled into the room.

"Cat!" Lister sat up, knocking his head on the roof. Or was it the bottom still? "Where've you been?"

"Where _haven't_ I been?" he grinned mischievously and thrust his hips forward. Lister rolled his eyes, knowing full well there was nowhere the Cat could've been in that sense.

"I've been real busy. Look!" he proudly held up a pair of hand-made, satin, all-in-one baby suits. Lister became choked up and burst into tears. The Cat left the clothes on the table and backed out nervously. "He's nuts," he remarked as he passed Rimmer in the corridor. Rimmer was surprised to see Lister hugging the baby clothes when he entered.

Lister wailed louder, "I'm going to be a smegging mum!" when he saw Rimmer. Rimmer consulted the book. Yes, it mentioned over-emotional outbursts and mood swings. I'd better not mention Lister's influx of acne, Rimmer thought and coughed and smiled in an uncharacteristically nice way. "Cup of decaffeinated tea?"

"No thanks," Lister sniffed.

***

By the 8th week Lister had turned mood swings into an art form. The Cat wasn't sure whether it was from hormones or because Lister was suffering withdrawal from his drink and curry. The cigarettes hadn't been much of a loss. He didn't have those very often. Drink was his real vice. His crutch ever since his dad died. He'd drunk before of course, but it was after the death of his best friend, his adoptive father, that Lister came to rely on drink. It was almost impossible for him to enjoy a night out without it. Alcoholic would be too strong a word for him. Drink-dependant suited his situation better.

Whatever his psychiatric condition, Lister knew one thing only - this was emotional hell. He couldn't even have curries every night. Rimmer tried introducing him to other foods, but if it didn't napalm his tongue Lister wasn't interested.

Luckily it was week 8. At the end of each month, Rimmer promised Lister could have a curry. The first month, Lister was too steeped in depression to think about curry so he was determined not to miss out now. Under Rimmer's strict orders, with a penalty of being rogered with a scalpel by a skutter, Lister had agreed to a mild curry. Korma didn't sit too well with him, so he'd managed to haggle a Tikka Massala out of Rimmer. It was mild enough. He gladly sat down to his meal with Rimmer watching, a look of disdain on his face.

"Stop it," Lister mumbled as he gobbled a curry-soaked Naan bread.

"Well I suppose if they're Deb's kids they can survive it. But _you'll_ regret it..."

Lister nodded without really listening to Rimmer, washing down the Peshwari Naan with some root beer. It had beer in its name, so it was close enough.

Rimmer climbed up into his new bunk. When he first realised Lister had swapped their bunks, he had been extremely annoyed. But Lister was right - it hadn't made much of a difference. It didn't feel different because he couldn't feel. He'd also noticed that Lister had made some pen-knife graffiti on the ceiling of the bunk, which had given Rimmer something interesting to read for about 12 seconds. Now he was sick to death of looking up at 'D (heart symbol) K 4EVA' when he woke up. But he wasn't about to argue with Lister. He was on a constant warpath with everyone.

A tinny clanging sound brought Rimmer back from his inner-world and he laughed a little as Lister dashed past him towards the toilet. He was right. The curry hadn't sat well after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Armitage Shanks joke - Can't take credit for that one, that belongs to some female comedian I saw one night. Probably on 'Live at Jongleurs'


	3. Bra-ssed Off

Around the 10th week, Rimmer realised Lister hadn't had an ultrasound scan yet. They both knew the babies would be fine, perfectly healthy, large, bonnie boys, but Rimmer was exceedingly paranoid. Lister, of course, was perfectly relaxed about it all and had taken Rimmer's constant demands of 'take it easy' to the extreme and barely moved from his hijacked bunk. An empty beer bottle sorted out any toilet urges and the TV was operated by voice control. Lister only moved for 'number two's' and to fetch any food too large for the skutters to manage.

Lately he was craving bread. Any bread at all: he was eating it by the loaf. He especially enjoyed tearing the edges off and rolling a slice or two up into a ball with his hands until the surface was smooth and shoving it into his mouth whole. Or better yet, an unsliced, crusty white loaf he could scoop the insides from and then roll that into one huge ball. He was eating one as a skutter spread conductive jelly onto his bulging belly. Rimmer grimaced at it. "You're eating for three, Lister - not three hundred!"

"Leave me alone, Rimmer."

"It's disgusting. You look 5 months gone, not 2 and a half. Not that you were exactly Hugh Laurie's twin brother to begin with. When was the last time you saw your toes, Lister? When you last needed to count to 20 I expect." Lister shot him a hurt look and balled up a few more slices of bread. Suddenly two faint heartbeats filled the room and Rimmer looked around him as if the sound was coming from the walls themselves. "What's that?"

"You stupid smeg, it's the sonogram. It's Jim and Bexley!" Lister said and stroked the TV monitor, tenderly tracing what he hoped was one of their heads.

Rimmer leaned in to take a closer look at the two indistinguishable floating blobs. They were definitely Lister's relatives. One even seemed to be practising holding a beer can; it's little webbed hand clawing at empty space. They could almost hear its tiny cry of, "Where's me smegging vindaloo?".

For the very first time, Rimmer could see Lister glowing. Lister was enjoying the idea of having babies, even in this unorthodox way. Lister's eyes became soft and warm as he stared at the once alien creatures. He suddenly wanted them with him right then and there so he could be sure they existed, be sure they were safe, and sheltered in his arms. Another 7 months? He couldn't bear the idea of being apart from them a moment longer. They felt so far away even though they were closer than they could ever be.

His ex-girlfriend, Kristine Kochanski had once told him that the reason he was so amiable was because under his laddish exterior, cheeky-monkey grins and childish attitudes, he was a doting, warm and kind person with a lot of love for anyone and everyone. Hell, he was even nice to Rimmer. Now and again. Maybe that was why...

Why he fell so deeply in love with his two boys. Even before they were born.

***

The Cat looked around him carefully. Up the corridor and down the corridor.

No one.

He tip-toed overdramatically down towards Lister's room. A small clank from behind him caused the Cat to dive forward and roll sideways commando-style until he was safe inside. He peeked out to see that it was only a skutter, dropping Lister's lunch tray filled with the vile fresh fruit and vegetables Rimmer had ordered before heading down to the library.

"Is he there?" The Cat jumped at the sound of Lister's voice. He was lying on a gym mat trying to catch his breath from his pre-lunch exercises. One whole sit-up. The Cat pulled a small lint brush from his pocket and began to tidy his scuffed leopard-print suit.

He said, "You OWE me buddy. You owe me big time," before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a selection of bras. "There was a time and a place I wanted to encounter these and it was NOT here and now."

Lister nodded gratefully and began to hold the bras up to his chest. "Too small... too big... too frilly... oh I'm keeping this one!" he grinned and hid a Wonder bra under his bed. "Not for me! Just in case we find a woman who can do it justice," he assured the Cat.

"Buddy, with your dress sense, women's underwear will be an _improvement_." Lister chuckled almost shyly and then found the perfect cup size - a B. He pulled it around his chest and realised he wasn't going to fit into it. "It's a 36B," he groaned. "No way am I going to fit into that. Were there any other Bs?"

"Not one that would fit you."

"Smeg." Lister collapsed into Rimmer's bunk and nuzzled into the pillow. It was beginning to smell like a bed should but it was still too clean and Rimmer-y. He rolled over and studied the bra for a while. If it wasn't for the fact that his breasts were rubbing raw against his t-shirt and lactating through the material he'd have never ever considered something so degrading.

"Pass me one of the C's."

The Cat huffed at being treated like a slave and kicked a 40C towards Lister. It landed on his arm and he studied this one as carefully as the other. "If I wear those lactose pads this should fit, right?"

"Lactation, not lactose you gimp," said Rimmer as he marched in. Lister buried the bra under the sheets in embarrassment. Rimmer shrugged. "Honestly Listy, you think I'm this horrible person; an opportunist who'll insult you whenever the chance arises."

"You ARE." 

"Now now, Lister. No need to get bra-ssed off!" Rimmer roared with laughter and even the Cat joined in, holding his aching gut. Lister's face grew redder and he rolled over to bury his newly acquired lingerie even more.

***

After a while, Rimmer stopped teasing Lister every hour about his women's underwear. It became every day instead. Lister grew more and more interested in Jim and Bexley and constantly poked and prodded his stomach trying to figure out where they were and what they were doing, goading Rimmer for answers to his questions of when, why, how and where. Rimmer soon wished that Lister had the incentive to read the book for himself. But the last book Lister probably read was a pornographic magazine. And as he himself knew very well, there wasn't much reading involved with those.

"When will I feel 'em moving about, Rimmer?" Lister called again from his typical position of lying on Rimmer's bunk with his putrid feet up on Rimmer's cushion.

"Won't be long now. According to 'Dr. Watson-Smyth's Guide to-'"

"Sometime today, Rimmer."

Rimmer cleared his throat and monotonously recited the text, "Around the fourth month. You should currently be able to feel their placental sac just three inches under your navel. The babies are three and a half inches long." Lister complained that four months was ages away but Rimmer reminded him that the pregnancy would be over sooner than he thought, and then he'd wish the little smegs were quiet and still and back inside his abdomen.

"You're such a loving, considerate aunt," Lister snapped with coated irony. "The only reason yer so interested in the pregnancy is coz you love finding new ways for me to experience pain or discomfort." Rimmer nodded shamelessly and Lister rolled his eyes in return. "You're a smeg." He picked up a box of Pot Pourrai and began to wolf it down.

"Fragranced dried flowers are the catch of the day, eh Listy? I must say it's better than last week when you fancied the smell of washing detergent and slept with my shirts every night."

"That NEVER leaves this room."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugh Laurie rules!


	4. Which Rod?

Rimmer inhaled sharply as Lister waddled into the medibay. His already corpulent frame was expanding rapidly and Lister asked the same question of Rimmer on the hour every hour - "Do I look fat?" And each time Rimmer would smile sweetly and say, "Yes, you pregnant manatee with comfort-eating issues and a slow metabolism." The first 20 or so times it had been amusing. Now it was a nuisance. "Rimmer, do I look fat in my leather jacket?"

"No, you look grotesquely obese in your leather jacket. For you to look only fat, try wearing a black bin bag, and standing next to something larger. May I suggest Red Dwarf itself?" Lister swallowed back the tears and took his jacket off. He couldn't stand the fact that Rimmer's insults actually bothered him now. Stupid hormones.

He lay back on the trolley bed and let the skutters rub the gel onto his belly for the ultrasound. "I don't see why you're bothering with this, Rimmer. We know they'll be healthy."

"I just like to be sure. Nothing wrong with that," he said and studied the screen. They were still waving their hands about searching for the Holy Beer Can.

Lister sighed heavily. "You're more anal than a prostate exam. You quadruple check _everythin'_. On Z-shift you drove us all crazy with your checks. And still nothin' worked! Even now, when I want a Lion bar I get a tuna sandwich. It's not even the same species!" Rimmer ignored him as always and suddenly asked what size shoe Lister wore. "Why?"

"Because you'll need to wear kayaks soon with those feet." Lister lifted his head with difficulty and caught a glimpse of his poor, swollen footsies.

"Oh yeah. I haven't bothered with shoes lately. Too sore."

"You've been barefootin' it?"

"Nah, I've been wearing your slippers."

"My ship-issued, deluxe, slip-on, foot-warmers with the Red Dwarf logo stitched on the left side?!" Rimmer spluttered.

Lister grinned, "Yep. And you wrote your name joined-up on both of the inner soles. Is your middle-name Fido?"

"Judas, you idiot. I can't believe you've been using my stuff again." Lister got down from the bed (which took about 3 minutes) and wiped the gel from his torso.

"I don't see why you're so pissed about it. You don't need 'em."

"If you were a hologram, would you let me play your guitar?" Lister paused in mid-wipe and glared at Rimmer.

"That's totally smegging different from wearing your clothes. Me guitar has sentimental value."

Rimmer walked with Lister back to their room and continued the debate along the way, "So do my clothes. I wore those slippers every night since boarding. I had some great times in those things."

"Brushin' your teeth before sitting and studying for your exams? Must've been a barrel of laughs."

***

Somewhere else - not terribly far away - the Cat was busy cutting up all the suits that he was pretty darn sure would never come back into style and making new stylish baby clothes out of them. In the back of his mind, there was a nagging voice saying horrible things like, "This is work, y'know. You're working for _monkeys_ ," and, "You're not even being paid! This is a FAVOUR. You're doing something nice and without expecting anything back!" and even worse, "What kind of a cat are you? I'll tell you what kind of a cat - a DOG-cat."

The Cat reassured himself that this was far too much fun to be work. And he was still fitting in all his naps and main snoozes. No loss there. This was just spare time in which he'd probably be off insulting Goalpost-head or looking for fish/women that didn't exist, but which he was ever hopeful would do.

He checked the seam on one of the bibs. Perfect. He was a genius. "I'm so good at this, I should be gay!" he declared triumphantly.

"Alright then, prove it!" The Cat looked up from his project and saw Rimmer and Lister walk (in Lister's case stagger) past. He neatly bundled everything away and followed them. "Prove I'm a genius or prove I'm not gay?" he asked Rimmer.

"Go away, Cat. We weren't talking to you."

The Cat scratched his temple and walked directly behind Lister instead. "I'm a little concerned about such stylish clothing being worn by your offspring. But I can't bring myself to make unfashionable clothes. What'll I do?"

Lister shrugged at the Cat’s question and went into his room, shutting the doors behind him.

"Well, how do you like that? After all those minutes of cleaning myself I missed out on to make PVC bibs with optional food-catching pockets." The Cat left Rimmer to frown and rage silently at the closed doors.

After about 5 minutes of pacing up and down with fury he remembered he was a hologram and walked through the wall. It was yet another reminder he was actually dead and he hated drawing attention to his true form but he had to get to the bottom of Lister's mood. There was more to this than hormones.

***

Lister lay on Rimmer's bunk and enjoyed a little peace. He heard the Cat leave and waited to see if Rimmer would work out that he could just walk through the doors. He flicked through a magazine to pass the time. It was one of Rimmer's and the title seemed innocent enough - War and Pieces - but inside it was full of half-naked women draped over tables covered with miniature soldiers. Sex was everywhere it seemed. He wondered if there were train-spotters magazines called 'Up My Tunnel' or fishing leaflets like 'Which Rod?' and 'The Right Tackle'.

It suddenly occurred to Lister how long it had been since he'd had sex. He couldn't really count himself, could he? He didn't even remember much. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't had any kind of singular sexual experience since a few weeks ago. He felt almost embarrassed about doing 'that' when he knew he had babies in the vicinity. If this had been a normal situation where he was a dad and he was with the mum, sex would've been fine. A beautiful, natural thing that created the baby in the first place. But this was just far too bizarre.

His hand hovered over his crotch for a moment and he laid it to rest on his stomach. He ached for release but he just couldn't do it. Luckily he didn't, for Rimmer walked into the room at that exact moment. "Ugh, I hate that," he sneezed at the wall and sat down on the chair. Lister nodded and turned over for a nice, long sulk. Rimmer decided not to pry and continued to re-read 'Dr. Watson-Smyth's Guide to a First Pregnancy: Platinum Edition'. These were testing times indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joined-up - For Americans, joined-up means cursive. Our cursive looks differently to yours but is just as difficult to read.  
> Masturbation - I've no idea how a guy would react to 'vomiting the bishop' around a baby. Would they fear it to be considered paedophilia, even if the baby wasn't born? What do parents get up to during those 9 months? "Daddy, why am I called Zorro?" "Because I was dressed up as him the night you were conceived, sonny." Anyway, Lister strikes me as the type that would be concerned by it.


	5. The Droid Driven Wild

Ker-klank.

Klunk.

Ker-klunk-klang.

Thunk.

"Oh I agree, they think they rule the damn universe, but we know better," Kryten nodded furiously to his new friend; a ventilation shaft with a rotating fan that was a bit of a looker and intelligent to boot.

He'd met many electrical friends whilst cruising around the many miles of corridors throughout the Red Dwarf but Ventila was special. There was that incident with a confiscated lawn mower a week or so back. She was better best forgotten. 

He'd rescued her and she'd told him about her past; her deranged young human who thought no one would notice he had stolen her during a Rag Week. Subsequently, he dropped out of his college anyway and ended up on Red Dwarf dragging her aboard in a suitcase. Even a dimwit like Hollister could espy a lawn mower in a suitcase. She was put away until they could trace the owner. She was so grateful to Kryten and fell handle over blades in love with him.

But alas, she was not his type and he let her down as gently as possible. Last time he saw her, she was racing up and down the halls roaring for vengeance.

But Ventila was far better. So understated and shy at first, but under it there was a great sense of humour. She'd heard every joke told on the ship, passed down from shaft to shaft from whence it was first heard, and she had Kryten in stitches all day with them. And the things she could do with those propellers would drive any droid wild! It was an almost perfect love. Kryten sat with Ventila for days on end, chatting about his new-found disrespect for humans and how they were all smegs, except for David Lister, the only man who'd ever believed he could have a greater purpose than serving him and other humans.

"He could've taken advantage of having his very own service-droid, but not Davey! He taught me to live. To _really_ live."

Clank.

"Yes, I plan to go back very soon."

Whirrr.

"Of course you can meet them! I'll bring them down to you. I'm sure David and the Cat would love to join us for a chat."

Thunk-klang?

"Pffft, like I'd want to invite _him_."

Clink.

"He is, very."

***

More time passed and Kryten grew restless. He wanted to explore some more. He had freedom and he wanted to use it to its fullest. But how could he abandon Ventila so early in their relationship?

"Perhaps if I went back to the others, they would help me move her to another shaft. We could all be one, big, happy family. An odd family, but a family none the less." It was decided. He made his apologies to Ventila and promised to return very soon. With a small salute, he rode off into the darkness. Ventila waited there for him to come back. She would be waiting for a very long time. 

A few miles later, Kryten realised he was a bit lost. He searched his memory trying to work out what routes he had taken since coming down to the lower levels and calculated a quick route back.

"Aha!" He revved the bike and it roared into action. He was about to set off when a bad feeling crept up on him like a fart in an aeroplane. He switched off the engine. The roaring sound was still echoing around the corridor. He turned his head slowly. An orange creature moved towards him. "Daisy?" he gulped and tried to smile at the lawn mower but his expression came out as 'sick-as-a-parrot'.

The lawn mower grinned menacingly (which is impressive for something with no face) and sped up. Quick as flash, Kryten turned the ignition and the bike jumped forward and drove off. Daisy wasn't about to let this put her off her mission and she pushed herself to go faster and faster. Kryten could see no way out. The bike was getting low on fuel and Daisy was hungry for robot-blood. Some quick-thinking was required here.

"So, Daisy, how have you been? You look well," he called behind him, hoping that a friendly conversation would calm her slightly. Daisy showed no signs of stopping. Kryten looked around for some inspiration for an escape plan. He was on his way to formulating a great plan but it was cut short.

Kryten was concentrating so hard on his plan that he paid little attention to his driving and didn't turn in time at a sharp bend. He swerved to avoid the wall but smacked against it violently, spinning away from it and hit the corner of the bend. Kryten lost an arm and an eye with that collision and he rolled across the hall stopping at the wall he had originally crashed into. He flopped off of the bike and collapsed in a heap.

Daisy came to a stop inches away from his battered remains. She spun her blades in triumph and trundled off down a metal bridge. But in a glorious display of karma's sense of justice, her wheel caught in the grid and she flipped over like a tortoise. And she remained like that until the end of her days. Kryten lay for a few moments and thought about how he wanted to see Lister once more. And how much he would miss Ventila. Then, he shut down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kryten - I was concerned about the lack of Kryten and always wondered what he got up to during those few months before Lister found him smushed up. So it's all explained here!  
> Daisy and Ventila - Well, everyone else gets a romantic storyline in Red Dwarf at least once and Kryten only gets Camille. So I decided to make him a bit of a ladies' man.


	6. Oatless Flapjacks

"Rimmer!" Lister bellowed down the hallway. Rimmer pounded down as fast as his light-bee could project him and skidded to a halt a few feet past the door. "What is it?!" he panted, holding onto his chest in case his heart fell out. It felt like it just might. Lister stroked his stomach. "I can feel 'em."

"Feel them?"

"Moving about. Rimmer it's amazin'! It's like... it... honestly man I can't describe it." Lister's grin grew incomprehensibly wide and Rimmer feared his face would split in two.

"Wonderful, Listy. What exactly are they doing?"

"Just movin' about and stuff."

"You have such a way with the verbs and adjectives of our Mother Tongue. Heaven forbid you should ever have to write a novel. 'These hobbit things, yeah, were like going to this place and stuff in the middle of somewhere.' would be a great start to any story."

"Ow!" Lister flicked his stomach in fierce retaliation, but only succeeded in hurting himself more. "One of the little smegs just kicked me. The other's kind of... jumping or something."

Rimmer looked through the book for the 4th month and concluded, "That'll be hiccoughs."

"Yeah that's what it's like. It's just not me doin' it. It's really cute."

"Lister, if you gush anymore than you already are, I'm afraid I'll have to go and empty my stomach's contents on you, and you wouldn't like that." Lister shrugged and lay back on the bunk with a self-satisfied smile. This was great. He ached and he was swollen, itchy and wanted to eat everything in sight. But they were worth it so far. He wouldn't be alone. He'd finally have company other than a bitter hologram, a computer that was a few oats short of a flapjack and the vainest creature since Harrison Ford.

Ok, so for the first few years they wouldn't have much to say and their first words would probably be 'Goalpost-head', and their first coherent sentence would most likely be a Space Directive. But there was a small spark of joy in David Lister. He knew that now, his species wasn't dead. There would be more universes to visit. His kids could find girlfriends, get married, and the population would begin anew. Humans had evolved from sludge before and they could do it again.

***

The next couple of weeks breezed by. Lister ate and contemplated life as a single mother. Rimmer teased Lister about his belly-button (the strain of two babies growing had caused the poor thing to become an outie, and one of the ugliest outies in existence) and abandoned 'Dr. Watson-Smyth's Guide to a First Pregnancy: Platinum Edition' for a while to read up on 'Dr. Watson -Smyth's Guide to Your First Baby: Extended Version', written by the previous Dr. Watson-Smyth's husband. It was chosen because the extension to it had a lot of great advice for parents of multiples.

A deck below theirs, the Cat was still 'playing' and making fantabulous suits and shoes and other cutesy, yet fashionable, baby items. He was even inspired enough to make two blankets with 'J' and 'B' stitched in the bottom-left corners for when they were born. Lister was given strict instructions that the babies weren't allowed into them until the gunk was cleaned off of them. "That's alright Cat, you can make sure of it," Rimmer piped up.

"I can?"

"You'll be there to help with the birth, won't you?" Lister said. The Cat backed against the wall nervously. "Hey, no-one said anything about THAT. I'm a cat, not a doctor."

"You're the only choice we have, you stupid smeg. We don't want you to help at all, but you're the only one who can hold the babies when Lister's giving birth."

Lister waved at Rimmer to shut the smeg up and patted the Cat on the shoulder. "I really want you to be there. Y'know, I helped your great-great-great-moregreats-grandmother out when she was pregnant. I wish I'd been there for her birth too but I was in stasis. So it'd be really great if you could help out in her memory. Just _once_. I'll never ask you to do anything ever again. No early-morning feedings or potty-training."

The Cat considered this. For about 3 milliseconds. "Nope."

"Cat! Please?!" The Cat gave Lister a sympathetic rub on the back and went back to his suits. "I guess..." Lister began but was cut off by Holly. Her head wobbled onto the wall and she greeted them with as much enthusiasm as she ever had. "Alright?"

"Not really," sighed Lister and he walked up to the observatory.

Holly followed him. "He's just worried about getting his clothes dirty. Look on the bright side - he's a cat. He'd probably just eat them as soon as they came out." Lister laughed weakly and gazed out at the emptiness of space. He suddenly felt very alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Watson-Smyth x2 - wife and husband tag-team whoop!


	7. Trust

'Dr. Watson -Smyth's Guide to Your First Baby: Extended Version' was set aside briefly whilst Rimmer cautiously eyed Lister re-entering the room. He sunk into Rimmer's bunk and gazed sullenly at the wall. Barren, grey, boring... he felt how that wall looked. Rimmer sat for a few minutes, sighing deliberately loudly and sadly in the faint hope of grabbing Lister's attention. Not a flicker of interest. Not even the slightest dance of intrigue.

Rimmer stood between Lister and the wall, blocking his vision. Lister stared past Rimmer, past the wall, past the universe itself. Rimmer was slightly worried now. He leant down and brought his face nearer to Lister's. His eyes focused on him slightly, but remained glazed. Rimmer moved closer. And closer. Lister vomited. Rimmer moved back. "Urgh! You're lucky I'm a hologram you piece of..."

"Urgh..." Lister fell onto the floor: Thankfully, he landed belly-up.

"Lister? Listy?" Rimmer stood over the groaning wreck. And it dawned on him. "YOU'RE DRUNK YOU IRRESPONSIBLE, PEA-BRAINED, USELESS EXCUSE FOR A MAN!!! WHAT ARE YOU? SOME KIND OF COUNCIL-HOUSE WHORE??? ARE YOU 12? IS THE FATHER YOUR GEOGRAPHY TEACHER??? DO YOU HAVE A 30-YEAR-OLD CONSTRUCTION WORKER FOR A BOYFRIEND WHO PROMISES TO SUPPORT YOU???"

Rimmer took a deep breath. He felt he had ranted enough and Lister obviously was too comatose to listen. A few skutters and a stretcher later, Lister was recuperating in the medibay, Rimmer frantically watching the twins on the screen. Lefty seemed happy-as-Larry despite the beer flowing about Mummy's system. Righty was sleepy but nonetheless fine. "Hn?" Lister stirred from his sleep and looked around groggily. "Where am I?"

" _You_ sir, are in trouble. _That's_ where you are," Rimmer's leg jiggled in anger.

Lister blinked. "I'm in the medibay."

"My god, yer right, chuck. Tell 'im what he's won, ar Graham," Rimmer scoffed in a Liverpudlian accent. Lister clutched his stomach and watched the twins float around regardless of everything around them. "I'm sorry lads. I jumped off the wagon again. Or on... I can't remember which it is. Anyway, sorry." He brushed away the skutters and rubbed off the conductive gel.

"And? What about me?"

"What about you?"

"My apology."

"For...?

"For?!" Rimmer squeaked. "For making me run around like a headless chicken with worry. For ignoring my diet calendar which said NO ALCOHOL. For taking every opportunity to argue against what you well know is the proper care and treatment for you and the babies. For not trusting me _and_ Dr. Watson-Smyth."

Lister waved his arms, "Alright, alright, calm down, calm down, eh?" Rimmer sat down, exhausted from ranting and running and fretting. He just wanted to rest in a hot bath with a book on war tactics. Something like Go Rin No Sho. But no, life wasn't that simple for Arnold J. Rimmer. He was dead, he was stuck in space, and he was midwife for a man who made Bonobos seem civilised. All in all, 'shit' was a good description of his life.

Lister sat beside him with great difficulty. "You're right," he mumbled, ignoring the bitter taste of humble pie. Or was it bile? "I've not been fair on yer. You were only helping in your own, weird, annoying, meddling way. But you've got to believe me. I was only going to have a tipple to relax."

"Relax? What did you need to relax for?" Lister grew quiet and muttered something into his arm, coughing animatedly. "Didn't quite catch that."

"I was trying to erm..." he made a jerking motion with his hand.

"Ah. Why couldn't you?"

Lister tried to hide the teenager-like highness of his embarrassed voice, "I just... y'know... it's weird. With Jim n' Bexley."

" _My_ presence has never bothered you."

Lister blushed even more. "Yeah... um..."

"Lister, I know you. You go at it like a 'Monkey World' chimpanzee when a 3rd Year school class is brought past its enclosure. I should think they'd be relieved to have your hormones kicked down a notch. Just act like it's a normal girl-less Friday night and grab some porn and salute the general."

He chuckled and said, "Thanks Rimmer. You're a smeg but no-one knows more about this sort of thing than you."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?!" Rimmer said, stomping after a giddy, tipsy and far jollier Lister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rimmer is so classist


	8. Porridge With a Spoonful of Anger

Around week twenty, Lister's tenacity grew worse. Though the situation involving his vacation away from five-fingered happy-hug fun-time had been cut short thus resulting in a calmer and more obedient Lister, Rimmer was still finding it difficult to control his actions.

Irresponsibly, Lister had eaten his way through a month's supply of poppadoms in 3 days, drunk a week's supply of vinegar to wash them down and for dessert he consumed 4 cans of whipped cream smeared on fruit rye bread. He then curled up like a kitten and slept on the floor until Rimmer came across him. As of that moment he was grounded.

"Sorry Listy," Rimmer sneered and checked on the skutters guarding the doorway, brandishing potato peelers. They were ordered to aim for the genital region should Lister move from his designated punishment area. "Sorry Listy," he repeated before leaving to have a small game of Chinese checkers in the drive room. "You should listen to me. I know what's best for you."

"Bein' a prisoner in my own room is best for me? Cheers.(!)"

"It may seem cruel but you're your own worst enemy."

"No, I'm pretty sure that's YOU, Rimmer," Lister retorted and adjusted the pillows on the bunk to elevate his gargantuan feet. When Rimmer was gone Lister breathed in the scent of silence joyously.

No. More. Rimmer.

Lister wasn't fond of being alone, but it was a heck of a lot better than having Rimmer around clucking at every little thing he did. He lay there for a while squishing his boobs together. He never got bored of the different ways they could move about; up and down and around, together, apart. No wonder women weren't terribly impressed with men. Lister had considered a bit of fun with the Wonder bra, but O! The humiliation if Rimmer walked in and saw! He could not bear that.

Holly's image appeared on the screen. "Heard you were doing porridge. Want to play scrabble?" Holly had an almost child-like approach to situations. If it was broke, don't fix it - ignore it and it can't possibly have happened.

"Scrabble?" he laughed soberly. "You don't know any words with more than five letters in them."

"Yes, I do." Lister waited patiently for her to think of one. She looked around at first, chewing the inside of her cheek. She banged her head on the screen seven times and said triumphantly, "Scrabble! It's seven letters."

"Eight."

"Oh yeah, I forgot the third 'a'." Lister shook his head and was slightly amused by her idiotic antics. It was a sad outlook for feminists that the female Holly was even stupider than the male.

***

The third trimester leapt onto Rimmer and Lister without them even realising. Rimmer got into a frenzied panic of quoting statistics of premature multiple births being higher than singular but Lister took everything he said with a handful of salt. He knew that 99% of statistics were made up anyway. 34% of all people knew that.

The main reason Rimmer panicked so was because a few days earlier Lister had complained of stomach pains. A nail-biting three hours later and they turned out to be Braxton Hick's - false - contractions, coupled with a disagreement with a curry from that morning. All that Lister required was a few Alka Seltzers. And despite ranting and raving at Lister for the rest of the day about giving false alarms, Rimmer still fell over with fright at even the smallest belch.

One day, whilst Lister balanced a tray with a Jenga game on top and began the impossible task of lasting more than five moves before Jim or Bexley thrust the tray into the air with a swift kick, Rimmer approached him with a proposition.

"Stasis? What for?"

"I don't think we can rely on the Cat to help you. He's been avoiding us for weeks."

"He's been leaving clothes about though."

"But that's ALL he'll do! If he's not there for the birth... we're in trouble. _They're_ in trouble."

Rimmer tapped his foot nervously. He didn't like the thought of the skutters trying to do it all by themselves. They were built to fix machinery, not to handle newborns. What was even more discouraging was how unconcerned Lister was by everything. Did he even care that his children could die if the Cat didn't help deliver them?

Lister had far too much faith in the future echoes: that was the problem, Rimmer concluded. Who knew what would happen between now and Lister's old self talking to him? All Lister knew was that he'd live that long and whatever the journey between A and B, he was sure he could handle it. Lister knew Bexley would die in a horrific explosion. But what kind of life would he lead up till then? Didn't matter. Lister was satisfied by the echoes.

Am I being stupid for questioning them, wondered Rimmer. Can the future be changed? No it couldn't. It would simply create another parallel to their universe. So no matter what happened, the twins were fine here. But how would they be fine without the Cat? Rimmer's head began to hurt. "He'll come around," Lister reassured him.

"I'd still rather you went into stasis. We could float around for a while until we bump into someone or something that can help you deliver. Or even get back to Earth. You were going to go into stasis for that very reason before, anyway."

Lister interrupted him with a whoop of delight as the tray went flying. "That one was definitely Jim. He has a stronger left kick."

"Are you even listening?" Rimmer said. Lister began to set up the blocks again and nodded.

"I know why you're worried but don't be. Anyone'd think they were YOUR kids, the way you go on."

"Well they practically will be! Be honest Lister, you'll dump all the workload on me and the skutters. Who'll be up at 3am to feed them? Me, of course."

"Hang on, hang on! I'll be up anyway. I can see to them."

"That wasn't my point, Lister," said Rimmer, folding his arms. He sighed and repeated slowly, "You will expect us to help you at first and then soon enough you'll be ignoring them completely. Until they're old enough to get blitzed with you anyway."

Lister knocked the Jenga set onto the floor and got to his feet. He faced Rimmer and his stomach passed through the hologram as he moved closer. His eyes flashed with anger and Rimmer was almost afraid. It wasn't often he was stared down by another man. Any sign of a fight and there would be nothing but a dust cloud where Rimmer had once stood.  
But Lister's move had come out of the blue. Lister wanted a fight right then and there and Rimmer knew it. But neither of them were in a condition for fisticuffs; Lister was pregnant, Rimmer was dead. Lister drew his lips in and licked them once before saying, "For once, man, you could give me a little credit." Then he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doing porridge - anyone who's anyone in Britain will know of the funny Ronnie Barker sitcom 'Porridge', so called because of the phrase 'doing porridge' which means doing time in prison.


	9. A Superlative, If Fraught, Friendship

Heartburn, swelling, indigestion, back and leg aches, haemorrhoids, and fatigue. Lister felt like a million dollar-pounds. He and Rimmer were still not speaking after their little spat, which was a shame because Lister needed Rimmer now more than ever. He needed to take the piss out of him to relieve his misery. There was just no way he could get comfortable. He rolled this way, he rolled that way. In the bunk, on a chair, on the floor, in the shower. Everywhere was uncomfortable. Now if he could just make Rimmer feel as horrible as he did, he might get through this alive. Rimmer was never in the room long enough for Lister to talk to him. And there was no chance in hell that Lister could chase him.

He huffed and puffed his way out of their room towards the medibay. "Allo Dave," Holly said when he arrived. Holly seemed to spend more and more time away from them. The truth was, Holly was more than a little concerned about her IQ. She was sure last week that she understood quantum physics, and yet today she was bamboozled by why toast always falls butter-side down.

"It's very simple," Talkie Toaster had sighed impatiently at her. "It's heavy so its gravitational force towards the floor is greater than the non-buttery side." He was met with a blank stare. "Look, I'm not going to waste any more of my beautiful toast. You'll just have to use your imagination.

"Just chuck a few more. Visual explanations work better for me."

"I'VE ALREADY THROWN SIX SLICES," Talkie Toaster had shrieked and jumped up and down in superfluous anger. At that point, Lister had walked in and Talkie had fervently tried to persuade him to eat the floor-toast, to save waste. Eventually Lister solved the matter by beating Talkie Toaster to death and hiding his remains. He ate the toast anyway.

But Holly was pleased. She was once again the most intelligent machine on the ship, with the exception of the calculators and the Captain's toilet, which automatically informed the occupant if they had left a floater by playing 'We shall not be moved' until it was re-flushed. But her intelligence wasn't enough to navigate Red Dwarf to Earth. She hadn't a clue where she was going and was earlier distraught to find that her male self had deleted the travel log to make room for the 3D version of Mah Jongg. She'd soothed her anger by playing a few rounds.

"So where've you bin, Hol? I hardly see you."

"Oh well, you know. Flying in space takes a lot out of one. It's a superlatively difficult task."

Lister raised an eyebrow, "One? Superlatively? What's with the brainy mumbo-jumbo?"

"Well I do have an IQ of 6000, David," said Holly and tried to laugh at the outrageousness of it all, but made a noise rather like a dying turtle. Once Lister was out of earshot she mumbled, "I only hope he doesn't discover my word-a-day calendar," to herself. Lister sat at one of the computers and stretched his arms over his stomach to type in a search for 'Dr. Watson-Smyth's Guide to a First Pregnancy: Platinum Edition'.

***

The Cat flicked through the television channels until he found what he was looking for. A pleasant and smiley woman came on screen and began to describe in horrific detail about birth as a graphic birthing scene played out behind her on a blue screen. The Cat watched, wide-eyed and dry-mouthed for a few moments before switching it off. "N-no way..." he spluttered. "Nooooo way, buddy - you're on your OWN!"

***

Rimmer was in a foul mood which grew even fouler when he saw Lister in the drive room. "Look at him," he scoffed to himself. "Reading 'Dr. Watson-Smyth's Guide to a First Pregnancy: Platinum Edition' on the computer like he's being mature. He's about as mature as Edam cheese. And he smells worse."

"Hi, Rimmer," Lister grinned. Rimmer started, having not realised how loudly he was insulting Lister. Lister shook his head and took something long, small and white from his ear and placed it between his lips.

"DAVID LISTER THAT HAD BETTER NOT BE A CIGARETTE!!!" barked Rimmer. Lister waved his hands in a calming fashion before showing Rimmer the offending object. "It's just one of those cigarette-shaped sweets. It helps me cravin'. And you get collector's cards in the boxes." Rimmer sniffed and peeked over Lister's shoulder at the page he was researching. Premature births.

"Ah, good. I told you the chances were superlatively higher with multiple births."

"Superlative? Do you and Holly have the same word-a-day calendar or something?" Rimmer said he had no idea what Lister was going on about, though he was clearly flustered by his query. In the background, Holly had slunk away in embarrassment. "Anyway," Rimmer changed the subject, "I just came in to remind you to increase your protein, calcium and folic acid intake next week."

"And iron, I know, I know."

"Ah, well. Good. Yes. Glad to see you're... ahem. Keep up the good work." Rimmer marched back out of the drive room. Lister blinked. Was that... were those words of support? From Rimmer? Lister smiled to himself. A compliment from Rimmer was like a talking dog. _Superlatively_ rare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Captain's toilet - I really want one :D  
> Mah Jongg - best damn game ever  
> Cigarette sweets / candy - best damn sweet ever


	10. Chipolata Umbilical Cord

With the dispute resolved and their egos soothed, Rimmer and Lister were soon back in full insult-slinging mode. Sometimes it was a just short burst of infuriation over possessions and other times they had hour-long marathons. Whichever it was, Lister thoroughly enjoyed them and the twins wriggled with encouragement whenever he was winning.

Other than these matches, the days went by uneventfully. Lister wallowed in Rimmer's bunk and watched TV, loathing any movement what with his eight pound luggage. Holly pondered how to get back to Earth. Rimmer hustled the skutters around for a private project known only as 'Operation: Lister', which Lister guessed was about the caesarean they would have to perform. The Cat avoided TV at all costs and made more baby clothes. Talkie Toaster and Kryten lay in pieces waiting to be rescued.

It was the eighth month. The twins weighed about 4 pounds each by now and each day made Rimmer more and more nervous. Even Lister was becoming impatient from waiting for the inevitable. He trailed a finger from his navel to his chest in boredom during a programme about Fiji, which he was only semi-interested in. It was just yet another way to pass the time. When the babies are born I won't even remember what spare time is, he thought to himself. "Me drinking will have to stop for years!" he exclaimed. "I can't rely on the skutters or the Cat to watch them while I'm drunk. If they have an accident and I'm too pissed to help them..." He trailed off. Rimmer's face blipped onto the screen.

"Good news Listy, the skutters have finally gotten the hang of this caesarean business. You won't have to go through the fun of giving birth after all."

Lister breathed a sigh of relief. "Where would they have come out otherwise?"

"You _really_ want to know?"

"No."

"Well I'll tell you if you keep insisting on it," Rimmer smiled wickedly. Lister closed his eyes and prayed not to hear any words along the lines of 'anus'. "The navel. Ha, had you really worried there, didn't I?"

"The belly button? Geez, Rimmer! I was nearly shittin' meself."

"Or at the very least, hoping you wouldn't have to in a month's time," Rimmer chuckled. Lister was about to throw something Rimmer's way when there was a strange sensation and he felt his T-shirt become wet. "Me smegging waters have broken!"

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Well it's not very often me belly button leaks!" He sat down as pain shook his whole body.

"Holly!!!" Rimmer squeaked. 

"Alright dudes?" she said as her head appeared on the other wall. Rimmer pointed at Lister. "Already? Well that's a bugger. I had a bet going with the toaster they'd be at least 3 days late. But as he's dead I suppose I automatically win anyway."

Rimmer tapped his unseen foot impatiently, "Holly..." She nodded and rallied the skutters to the medibay. "Think you can walk to the medibay, Dave?" One look told Rimmer that the answer was most definitely "no chance you big fat smeghead". But to his surprise, Lister staggered to his feet anyway and made the painstaking journey to the medibay.

There, he sunk down onto the skutter-height bed that was prepared. "You sure they know what they're doing?" Lister puffed between each contraction. For some strange reason their pace had quickened and were only thirty seconds apart.

"'Course they do," Rimmer lied. He still had no clue how the skutters were going to lift the babies out, or even clean them up. They could cut the umbilical cord after a few weeks practice with strings of chipolata sausages. They could open Lister up and use the lasers to seal him up again. Rimmer was confident that there wouldn't even be a scar. But as much as it sickened him to admit it - they needed the Cat.

So while Rimmer coached Lister's breathing as the Caesarean drugs took effect, Holly decided to go Cat hunting. He was fairly easy to find. He was a few decks down still cutting up his old suits that he'd worn once and was now out of fashion. "How come you can spend all day making clothes for the babies but not help out with the delivery?" The Cat jumped at the sound of her voice, then acted like he'd known she was there the whole time. Cats hated to lose face.

"Babies are work; fashion is fun!"

"If they die you'll have no one to make clothes for." The Cat considered the possibility of a funeral range, but decided that that was too callous even for him.

"They'll be fine. The monkeys know what they're doing."

Holly had to think quickly. And Holly wasn't used to thinking at all. "It's a shame really," she said after a few moments. "Girls really like that sort of thing."

His ears pricked up. "What sort of thing?"

"Doctors, guys with babies, heroes - you'd be all three in one."

The Cat scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Being as hot as I am already isn't enough?!"

"Well, it'll get you a few girls. But this sort of thing would guarantee a personal harem of them."

"How would they know I really did this?"

"I'll tape it. Honestly." Holly waited as the Cat got to his feet and put away the clothes. "Well, if you're going to beg, then I guess I can fit you in between my naps-"

"NOW!" Holly snapped. The Cat flashed a dazzling smile her way. "Ok, you go ahead. Just let me get something first."

***

"Breathe, Listy... try to relax."

"YOU TRY TO RELAX WITH TWO BABIES TRYING TO SQUEEZE OUT OF YOUR BELLY BUTTON!!!" Lister yelled in agony and distress as the skutters placed up a green curtain ready for the Caesarean. Holly watched on and Rimmer felt utterly helpless.

"AAOOOWWWOOO!!!" Rimmer turned to see the Cat twirl in wearing a full-length off-white doctor's coat with rhinestone surgical gloves and stethoscope.

"You... Cat I could kiss you!" Rimmer gasped in admiration.

"Hey hey! Say stuff like that and you'll have two sick people in here." He gazed into the bottom part of the stethoscope which was actually a makeshift mirror. "How am I looking? I'm looking... great! George Clooney's got nothing on me." He danced over to Lister and peered into his now open stomach. Holly couldn't believe it - he'd actually made an outfit for the occasion. So he'd planned to help all along, the soft-hearted smeg.

He exercised his fingers by wiggling them about and shaking his hands. "Gimme," he demanded and a skutter obliging moved aside as the Cat deftly and reluctantly put his hands in and grabbed the first baby he felt. The skutter clamped and cut the cord and the Cat put Jim into the incubator and wrapped a blanket around him. "Gimme," he said again and did the same with Bexley. With a wrinkled up nose, he peeled the gloves off and with a, "See you monkeys later," he disappeared.

Lister wasn't sure what had just happened. One minute he was in utter agony and the next the Cat had waltzed in, taken his babies out and now the skutters were stitching him back up ready for the skin lasering. "Rimmer..."

"Right here," Rimmer answered from behind his head and made a few soothing, clucking sounds. Lister looked at his upside down face and grinned. "Does this mean I can have a vindaloo?"

Rimmer rolled his eyes. "Well, you're nursing but I suppose it wouldn't kill them." Lister nodded and went to sleep. The Cat came back, in a new green suit with more frills than an Adam Ant convention, carrying more baby clothes. "This is where I truly excel," he said and began the process of assigning different outfits to each baby.

***

Despite being in a sense 'clones,' the twins still looked different and therefore required different styles to suit them. Jim was thin and short like his mother and Bexley was slightly chubbier like Lister. Rimmer looked down at the babies and realised that he now had to deal with three Listers. Thank God they only had one guitar between them. Perhaps as their Uncle Rimmer he could introduce them to finer things such as Vivaldi and Napoleon.

"Hey goalpost-head?"

Rimmer sighed. Though if mummy and Uncle Cat had anything to say, they'd probably turn out to be slobs, who would wear only the finest Gucci underwear 3 weeks in a row.

"Yo, dead guy!"

"What?"

"I'm not the biggest expert on babies - hell, we cats are usually gone 5 seconds after conception - but they look a bit big, don't you think?" The Cat was right. Jim was already bursting out of the newborn suit the Cat had put on him and their eyes were wide open and bright already. "That's not right," mumbled Rimmer and consulted the book. Dr Watson-Smyth agreed.

"What's up?"

"Ah! Listy..." Rimmer jumped at his voice. Lister gazed over at his newborns and then heaved himself off the bed and walked slowly over.

"Definitely worth it. Women aren't as nutty as you think. It hurts like smegging hell but... well just look at what you get!" he smiled and waved Bexley's hand about. Bexley chuckled and gripped Lister's finger. "Ow! Smeg, he's strong."

"He's also 2 weeks old."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Navel birth - anal births are so cliché and besides, I couldn't figure out how that could possibly work. And the belly button is such a useless thing anyway, I reckoned that it must have some function


	11. Yo Daddy and Yo Mamma

Four hours later, they held a First Birthday party. Lister couldn't believe what was happening and it had taken several attempts from Holly to explain the situation. He still didn't quite get it.

"It's to do with gravity," she had huffed, understanding why Talkie Toaster had been so frustrated with her and the butter-theory. She now finally got it, and the other dimensional theories of gravity. But to make room for this new information, she'd had to delete Mah Jongg.

"Gravity?" 

"Isaac Newton discovered gravity, but he believed in other gravitational forces and studied alchemy and fate. He was a bit odd really for a scientific genius." Rimmer had pointed out that nearly every genius was mad. "Shame it doesn't work the other way," he'd added.

"If you're going to insult me I won't help."

"No no, he's sorry, aren't you Rimmer?" 

Holly had then explained further, "Well everything has a gravitational pull that attracts them to other objects. Well there are actually other gravities, such as sexual attraction. That's why similar people often don't get along and opposites can get along really well. Not always true but physics has never been totally trustworthy." Rimmer urged her to get on with it. "Anyway, destiny and time are also a gravity. People affect their own destiny and others around them. Same as time. That's why when you were in the parallel universe, their rules applied."

"So when I came back here, why didn't my body reject the idea of babies in me when it's impossible?"

"Their destiny gravity affected your body because their combined destiny gravity was larger than yours. But they were on your time scale because it was a greater force. They had to contend with an entire universe."

Lister scratched his head. "But now?"

"Now they're affected by their own gravities for some reason, so they're on their own time scale and you're still on yours."

Lister was still trying to get his head around this. Holly didn't know why the destinies had changed. Lister managed to pose for the future echo picture before they grew too big to hold at the same time. He suddenly remembered Rimmer's vision of Bexley's death. At this rate, it'd happen by Thursday afternoon. He couldn't let that happen. "Holly?"

"Alright Dave?"

"Get the Holly Hop drive ready. They've got to go." Rimmer stirred from his sleep. After one too many hologram tequilas he'd collapsed under the table and Jim was waving his hand through him, giggling at the static distortion he caused each time. "Stop it," Rimmer moaned and got up. "Go? Go where?"

"To the other Red Dwarf. It's the only way to save them from dying early."

"But Lister..." Rimmer began but Lister motioned for him to stop. "Alright, Listy. I'll get the skutters to bring up some coffee. You don't want to fall asleep and miss their first steps or anything."

"Thanks, man."

***

When Starbug landed in their hanger, Deb could hardly contain her excitement and ran straight over. Arlene strolled behind, and the Dog was distracted by something shiny so his journey was cut short. Deb called back to Arlene, "The door's opening - walk faster!"

"Did y'all say 'walk'?" the Dog bounded over wagging his rear. The door swung fully open and the Lister family hugged and bounced around each other giving Arlene the mental image of farm dogs that had just heard the rattle of dog food against a tin bowl.

"Dad!" the twins yelled in joy and fought for custody over hugging Deb. Deb ruffled what little hair they had.

"I can't believe it Dave, they look amazin'! What you bin feeding 'em?" Dave confessed that Arnold had done all the hard work. Arnold shrugged sheepishly, secretly chuffed to be acknowledged. "Well done Aunty Arnold." Arlene grinned. Arnold immediately went into battle mode and made a stance similar to a martial artist but which made him appear to be constipated instead. "Hi-yah! You stay BACK, you vile temptress!"

"Oh don't be so paranoid, Arn."

"If it weren't for Rimmer, I don't think I'd have made it past the first month," Dave continued chatting with Deb. Deb nodded and laughed at Jim, whose leg was being ravished by the Dog. The Cat watched with abhorrence at the mutt and combed his hair.

"Listen Deb, the reason we're here..." Dave did his best to explain the situation as clearly as possible but Deb was still giving him blank looks when he finished.

"Look you stupid wench, if the boys don't live here they'll die, "Arlene explained.

"Oh right," said Deb. "Well it's the least I can do. I was a total clit-head to you before."

"Well that's the biggest understatement since the Penguin children's history book that called Adele Hitler a 'naughty woman'," Arlene scoffed.

"Oh and you were practically Princess Diana with your manners and grace, weren't you?" Arnold retorted. Jim and Bexley exchanged 'bloody old people!' looks and went over to break up the tiff.

"Alright, alright, calm down," Jim demanded. Holly blipped onto the wall and told them it was time to go.

"Holly, is that lipstick on Hilly's face?"

"Maybe..."

***

Dave swore to himself that he wasn't going to cry, which was difficult to do when he was already sobbing so openly on Jim's jacket. "It's alright lads, we'll probably meet again."  
Arnold nodded and asked Bexley to join him for a private word. "S'up, Aunty Arn?" Arnold looked around carefully and pointed at Bexley's head. "Never EVER go into the drive room wearing that deerstalker hat. You or Jim. Don't ask me why, just don't do it."

"Er, Ok... Whatever you say, man."

"And eat your vegetables."

"Shut up man, me dad's watching," Bexley groaned with embarrassment. Arnold coughed shyly and went to join Dave and the Cat at Starbug.

"Be good boys!" Dave called back, almost having to be dragged back in by the Cat.

"Why don't you just spit on a hanky and wipe their faces, I don't think they're embarrassed enough!" he growled and eventually managed to bring Dave in. Dave ran to the front of the 'bug and stared out of the window.

"Don't worry, Listy. They'll be fine."

"Yeah buddy, unless they get ticks from that flea-hound down there," the Cat said at the door. The Dog overheard him. "Yeah well, yo' daddy ate cat litter and yo' mamma was a Manx!" he shouted back.

"What did he say?! That son of a b-" The door closed and Starbug rose up ready to leave. Jim and Bexley waved one last time before leaving for the safe and oxygenated hold. Bexley stopped only to throw his hat on the floor, ready to be sucked out into space with Starbug.

"Rimmer, did you tell him...?"

"I honestly didn't utter a word," Arnold sniffed haughtily. Dave smiled gratefully at him and watched forlornly as they left the Red Dwarf.


	12. And Then There Were Three?

The Cat grumbled quietly to himself over the waste of his precious clothes as he bundled all the twins' outfits into the Recyclatron. For the very first time though, he actually felt sorry for Lister. He didn't quite understand the monkey nature of loving companions and mates and children but he too was also suffering a great loss as he switched the Recyclatron to shred. If he felt this bad, then Lister probably felt pretty crummy too.

"Listen bud, why don't you and I get totally drunk tonight? I mean 'singing songs about goblins' drunk. 'Peeing in Rimmer's closet' drunk."

"We do all that anyway. Look Cat, it's a nice gesture an' all, but I'd really like to be alone for a while. To just be with me thoughts. Think about stuff."

"So, what, I'll be back in say, ten minutes?" Lister's depressed little shrug told Cat to bugger off before he began to annoy him. The Cat checked his reflection and then twirled his way out of the room and down the corridor. "AAOOOWWW!!!" he howled as he passed Rimmer.

Rimmer wrinkled his nose making his nostrils appear exceptionally large. "Go away you vile creature. Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Doing what?"

"Delivering a message to Lister from Holly."

"Doesn't sound too important to me. If it was then why didn't she just go on the magic wall thing and tell him herself?"

"...Shut up! It is important," said Rimmer before continuing on his way, muttering all the while about curiosity killing the wrong cat. When he entered his room he found exactly what he had expected - Lister sobbing drunkenly into a beer can. He rolled his eyes and decided that the best thing for Lister was to just keep him busy and try to snap him out of his misery. He had to be cruel to be cruel, otherwise nothing he wanted to get done would get done.

"Lister, Holly has found something a few decks below." Lister swilled the beer around the can, taking great comfort from hearing the widget thunking against the sides.

"What?"

"Kryten."

***

"Bleeding 'eck! He's total wreck. He looks like me first car a week after I got it."

"You crashed it a week after you bought it?!"

"No," Lister insisted, "me ex-girlfriend dropped a TV on it." Rimmer chose not to probe further.

"Well Listy," he mused, "what are we going to do with it? We can't leave it here like this." Lister hauled Kryten back onto the bike piece by piece and rolled it back and forth. "It still works. Just the engine gone and a mashed handlebar. Not bad considerin'. I reckon I could fix this lot in a month-ish."

"You? Fix a Series 4000 Mechanoid from the 22nd century? You can't even build a Lego car."

"Alright, two months," said Lister as he strained to push Kryten and the bike towards the lift. 

Rimmer went with him shaking his head the entire time. "Ridiculous. Preposterous. Outlandish. Absurd! A... hmm, I'll need to check my thesaurus but I'm sure there are more good words to describe the very idea of you rebuilding a highly complex machine like Kryten." Lister ignored him and bopped up and down to the elevator music which he had changed to 'Corky and the Juice Pigs' a year ago.

The lift stopped at the technician's floor and he dragged Kryten towards the workshop, slipping a few times under the bike. After arranging Kryten on the floor like a puzzle set he started to work out what pieces used to belong where and how they were attached. Rimmer watched Lister quietly for a long while before leaving him to ponder over which ear was the left and which was the right. Lister exhaled thankfully when he had gone.

***

Lister had just worked out that he was an idiot and would never have a snowball's chance in hell of repairing Kryten, when Bob the skutter dropped a book with a loud thud beside him. It was a manual for the Mechanoid 4000 series. "Thanks a lot, Bob, I really need that!" Lister grinned and searched through the pages, tearing a few as he went. 

"Oh don't thank me!" Rimmer snapped, standing in the doorway.

"Oh, right. Ta."

"Ta? TA?!" he gargled on his own rage. Rimmer stomped over to Lister and although he knew perfectly well that he couldn't touch him, Rimmer still took a few swings at him. "I'll give you 'ta' - Don't you 'TA' ME!!!" Lister lifted his crossed legs and swivelled away from him on the floor. "You selfish little smeg," Rimmer continued. "You contemptible git. Look at me when I'm insulting you."

"I can't look at you, alright? Every time I see you I remember you mincing around quoting Watson-Smyth rules. Every word you say reminds me of it. Of _them_. I've finally found a way to pass the time without crying so just bugger off!" Lister turned back to his work and Rimmer stood gaping at him: his mouth opening and shutting like a dying goldfish.

"I do NOT _mince_ around!" Rimmer eventually snapped.

"Just go away, Rimmer." Lister's plea fell on deaf ears which became evident when Rimmer deliberately plonked himself down next to Lister and began reading the manual.

***

Three months later, Kryten was almost finished.

"Is that the nose?"

"What's left of it."

"Put it on then," Rimmer sighed and examined their handiwork. Kryten looked relatively normal despite the brief incident with the vice which left Kryten's head resembling a vibrator Rimmer's mother used to have. They'd also had a lot of trouble locating all of his nose and the less said about the groinal attachment they found, the better. For now it lay with the spare heads Lister found and had banged into shape to look like the new one.

"I think I banged the third one a bit too much," Lister had muttered after it tried to bite his finger off. Now, was the grand unveiling of the new and improved Kryten. Holly tried to appear interested but couldn't help yawning throughout Rimmer's speech about all the hard work he'd put into fixing Kryten. Lister was too tired to point out that all he'd done was bark orders at him and the skutters. The Cat gobbled popcorn noisily and heckled Rimmer until he finished.

"I present to you - Kryten!" Bob the skutter tugged at the rope and the curtain fell back to reveal the rather bemused Kryten.

"Can I go now? I've got to fit in three naps before lunch. I'm not going to have enough time to look at myself in the mirror before I eat. I hope you're happy!" the Cat whined before twirling to the lift.

"C'mon, Kryten, let's go. I've got to teach you how to rebel again."

"V-v-v-v-v-very g-go-gog-go-d, ssssirrrrrrrrr."

"Is his voice still acting up?"

"Yeah, the only section that seems to be workin' is 'North Canada'. We'll just have to use that for now," Lister sighed and adjusted a few switches in Kryten's head.

Rimmer moaned, "Ugh, Canada. I'm surround by the worst of Earth accents; American, Canadian and Scouser."

"What about me?" said Holly.

"Don't get me started on you. Anyway your accent isn't Earthy, it's Jupitarian."

Holly didn't seem to care what anyone thought of her accent. She was far more worried about how she knew seven came before eight, but didn't know why. Kryten followed Lister obediently up to his room for his first Lying Lesson. Rimmer remarked it would more than likely consist of Lister lying on his bunk and Kryten watching and taking notes on laziness. Lister rolled his eyes and mentioned to Kryten that if he ever went on a mad human-killing spree like in the movies, that he should start with Rimmer so that he could watch. Kryten blinked a few times and wished they'd left him where he was.

"So..." he mumbled to himself, "this is my life. At least I have Silicon Heaven."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corky and the Juice Pigs - very funny comedy band  
> Accents - not my opinion! I love Canadian accents, but you all know how insufferably snobbish Rimmer can be


End file.
